


You'll Never Have My Heart

by NitroJen



Series: Captive Prince Spy AU [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Auguste doesn't live but there will be flashbacks with him, M/M, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6841189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NitroJen/pseuds/NitroJen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Captive Prince Spy AU </p><p>Agent Laurent DeVere of MI6 is working on the biggest case of his life, tracking down information in what could be the world's largest criminal association ever. It's the case of a lifetime, until he's forced to work with his rival, CIA Agent Damianos Akielon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Laurent pressed through the Iranian Marketplace. People were shouting, trying to sell the products they had laid out in their stalls. The buildings the stalls were backed against created sporadic shade, guarding the people below from the blazing sun that was high in the sky. Under a burqua, Laurent felt the heat ten fold. He didn’t have the benefit of fitting in here, so it was easier to disguise himself with the bulky garment. 

Due to the state of the relationship between Iran, it would be a bad idea for someone with Laurent’s coloring to walk around in the open air of an Iranian marketplace. Not only that, but if anyone found out that MI6 was sending spies into the country, it would only further the rocky relations that the two countries had. So Laurent was disguised under the thick black garment. There was strategy in wearing the burqa though. It allowed Laurent to carry his gun more easily, strapped to his shoulder. Laurent’s small form and penchant for tight clothing made it difficult to carry weapons, the shoulder holster was comfortable. 

No one paid him any attention as he made his way back through one of the spice stalls and into a building. A large man with an AK-47 strapped across his back stepped out and gave Laurent an appraising glare. Laurent said the passphrase in Farsi and the man nodded, leading Laurent through a maze of hallways and stairwells. They passed apartments where he could hear bits and pieces of conversations. The building was poorly lit, but it was cooler than outside, a relief for Laurent, who was used to colder temperatures. 

Laurent hadn’t initially asked to be put on a mission the the Middle East, but he should have known that a case as large as the one he’d been given would have connections everywhere. Shortly after being on the case, he’d revealed that it was a complex spiderweb of connections and people. So far he’d been all over the world in order to put together the pieces of one of what could be the most dangerous network of power hungry criminals in history. A man in China had led to a woman in Sweden and that brought him here to Iran. Muhammad al Shirazi was the next piece in their puzzle and one of his former informants had been kidnapped and interrogated by a group of Australian Special Forces in Turkey. Deep under cover, they were only able to meet in this isolated area in Iran to give Laurent the transcripts the Australians had managed to record before Shirazi's man had offed himself in custody. It was a messy death that could have been avoided if more competent forces had been on the 

The man finally stopped at a door and knocked on it, speaking back and forth with the man behind it in rapid Farsi before the door finally opened. The man hastily ushered Laurent inside the door, shutting it behind him. The apartment was well furnished with heavy carpets and large armchairs and couches. The decor was very western, clearly Laurent was in the right place.

“003.” Laurent was greeted by a large man in camo pants and a black tank top. He was all muscle and tan and practically screamed that he was a military man. Laurent saw a gun strapped to his shoulder, but he recognized the man’s boots as ones that had room for knives. The stance he held and lump on his left thigh also indicated a thigh holster. 

Laurent pushed off the burqa, enjoying the rush of cool air against his flushed skin. While the apartment may not have been air conditioned, it was cool enough to be a relief compared to the heat he’d felt in the burqa. It didn’t help that he was wearing his signature all black clothing. He’d swapped the black turtleneck for a black crew neck, but stuck with the tailored black slacks and boots that he often wore on missions. 

“003,” someone else greeted and Laurent turned around when he heard that familiar voice. He was greeted with the tall, tan, muscular form of his rival. He stepped out of the hallway leading to what Laurent presumed were the bedroom and bathroom. Dark skinned with a head of black curls and a genuine large smile, his rival didn’t have to wear a burqa to look like he belonged in Iran, he simply had to walk around and smile like the big brute he was to capture a heart and get where he wanted. Clearly in search of the same information, Agent Akielon of the CIA was everywhere Laurent had to be since their countries were- unfortunately- pursuing the same case.

Of course Laurent knew everything about him. Damianos Akielon. A large bumbling brute of an American and the bane of Laurent’s existence. Successful from the beginning, Damen (as he was called by his peers) had always been the perfect mix of strength and athletics. With a Greek father and Lebanese mother, Damen had grown up speaking three languages and immersed in culture. He played soccer and football while excelling in school. In college he’d majored in International Affairs and Religious Studies. His mother had died when he was 8, his father when he was 20, and he had a brother who he wasn’t in contact with. Of course the CIA had been all over him when he’d graduated. Damen had excelled in training and was put in the field for his athleticism, sharp shooting skills, his knowledge, and his charm. 

Laurent hated him. He was everything Auguste could have been before being killed in the field during a training mission. He didn’t know all the details of it, there was only so much his own government would tell him, but Auguste was at a training field in Syria that had been mistaken for a terrorist operation and bombed before the American government could even do any research. All they had to do was ask the British government about the deep undercover training mission they were doing but instead they had acted before they thought, and Auguste was a casualty. 

Laurent had first run into him in Russia on an undercover mission in the underground of Moscow. He had been investigating missiles that may or may not have been there at the time, and he’d run into the CIA’s pride, Agent Akielon. He’d smiled at Laurent, and taken the blueprints leading to a missile that Laurent had just stolen. Laurent had verbally berated him, something that he’d done enough times to know it could make any man quake in his boots and cry, but Damen had possessed the gall to laugh in his face, pat him on the head, and hop into an unmarked car. 

As soon as Laurent returned to London, he’d done all the research he could on Damianos Akielon and found out everything about him, including his next mission. Laurent had met him there, taken the object Damianos had been after, and left Damianos with a mouth open wide enough to catch flies. They had been in a game of seeing each other on missions since then, and now they were both tracking the same thing. 

So here he was, at Laurent’s meeting, arms crossed like he lived in this apartment his whole life and taking up the entire goddamn doorway like the giant he was. Laurent scoffed and turned back to the Australian in the room who was looking very nervous. 

“You didn’t tell me there would be anyone else here at this meeting,” Laurent said, voice cold and dangerous. The man shivered and Laurent wanted to smirk, but he kept his face steady. 

“Both of your governments made very good offers,” the man said as he looked back and forth between Damen and Laurent. 

“Yes but didn’t you say there was only one copy of the transcript?” Laurent asked. 

“There is only one copy,” Damen said. “And I have it.” Laurent watched as Damen pulled a padded yellow envelope out of one of the many pockets in his cargo pants and waved it. Who even wore cargo pants anymore. Didn’t Damen know they made him look even more like some militant foreigner?

Laurent turned to him and fixed him with a glare. “Then give it to me, this is official MI6 business.”

“It’s also official CIA business, Agent,” Damen said. “Which is why I put in a call to our government to see if we’d be willing to share the transcript with you, seeing as we’re both on similar missions.” 

“And what are we supposed to do,” Laurent asked as he crossed his arms, “Work together?” 

“If our governments are smart, then yes.” Damen said. “Which is why I’m leaving with this tape and if you want this information you’ll go with me to our base and we can discuss the details of our arrangement there.”

Damen wasn’t kidding. He’d actually called in to his superiors to try getting them to work together. What kind of hellish nightmare was this where Laurent would have to work together with Damianos, the buffoon poster child of the CIA, the very agency that had killed his own brother? There was no way MI6 would really allow this, not when they had fought with the CIA before, not when MI6 clearly had a more superior agent on the case. 

Laurent felt a vibration in his pocket and grabbed the phone given to him by Q, he looked at the screen and frowned, feeling his heart sink to his stomach. He read over the coded message once, twice, three times before he realized none of it was a mistake and he was actually being told to do something he resented with every fibre of his being. Laurent sent back a confirmation and slipped the phone back into his pocket. 

“Due to the limited amount of information on the case and the fact that you’re somehow the best agent your incompetent government could possibly offer, it looks as if we will be working together on the remainder of this case.” Laurent said. He turned to the Australian soldier. “Your government will receive payment for this transaction, but after what happened today, I can assure you that we will not be making anymore transactions on your country’s terms again. Considering the danger you all put us in by inviting a CIA operative in what was supposed to be a confidential meeting just between Britain and Australia. I will not even begin to list the ways you could have compromised this mission, but I can advise you that it would take weeks to fully explain to you how badly you fucked up.”

Damen had an annoying smile on his face, clearly too entertained by all the events that were unfolding before him and he pushed off the wall into his full height. Laurent was honestly surprised Damen’s head didn’t brush the top of the doorframe. “Off we go,” Damen said. Laurent tried to make a grab for the envelope but Damen held it above his head in a move that Laurent could only describe as despicably low for someone of Damen’s stature.

Laurent put the burqa back on, a lengthy process that Damen sat through, and they walked in silence back out to the Iranian marketplace. Everything was bustling as it had been before and Laurent had to do his best not to bump purposely into everyone that got in his way. He didn’t want to ruin this mission by acting like a petulant child. 

Damen brought them to a jeep and Laurent rolled his eyes at it. Could the barbarian make it any more obvious he was American? Laurent was honestly surprised Damen had managed to get it here without the Iranian government finding out who he was and shooting him. Laurent climbed into the vehicle on his own, pushing Damen’s hands off him, Damen holding his hands up in surrender as Laurent struggled to get in. 

Damen started the jeep and they were on the road and moving towards the desert right as the call to prayer began echoing through the city, Laurent pushed the burqa off and let the wind from the open windows blow through his hair. 

“If you ruin this for me, I’ll destroy you.” Laurent warned when they were clear of the city. “This is the case of my career and if you fuck it up like the bumbling mess you are, I will not hesitate to put you in custody for compromising our mission and I will make your life a living hell.” 

“Calm down, Laurent,” Damen said. “I know what I’m doing.”

Laurent tensed and looked over at Damen, eyes narrowed. “How. Do you. Know. My. Name.” He asked, voice like steel. 

“You think I wouldn’t take the time to get to know the best agent at MI6?” Damen asked. “What kind of spy do you think I am?”

“A terrible one,” Laurent said, mostly to himself as they crossed into the desert, driving towards their pickup. Dust and sand billowed out behind them, the sun starting it’s descent towards the horizon. Damen laughed at him, he actually laughed and Laurent rolled his eyes.

This would be a very difficult mission.


	2. Chapter 2

Laurent sincerely wondered what was wrong with the CIA when they met up with the helicopter that was parked in the middle of the Iranian desert. The sun had gone down about an hour into their trip, leaving them to navigate the rocky hills and mountains of Iran with little to no light. Laurent had been convinced Damen was going to hit a rock that was just large enough to send the Jeep tumbling and kill both of them. He vocalized these concerns several times. The first few times Damen couldn’t hear him over the wind, the next few times he brought it up Damen rolled his eyes and ignored him. It was a miracle that they found the helicopter, honestly. 

His doubts about American intelligence intensified when he met the other CIA agents that were there to meet them. It was a small wonder that the giants didn’t weigh down the helicopter enough to hinder it from flying. While Nikandros- Damen’s partner on many of his cases and one of his good friends in the agency- wasn’t as large as Damen, he was still a muscular giant compared to Laurent. Laurent had learned a lot of things in his service with MI6 and one of those things was that he didn’t need to be a giant to be strong. He had taken down many people two and three times in his service with the agency. Having so much bulk seemed like a waste of space to him. 

Nikandros gave Laurent several sideways looks in the helicopter. He and Damen went back in forth in Greek a few times and Laurent steadfastly ignored them and hoped that this wasn’t kind of sick trap by the Americans to steal British intelligence and take credit for cracking what could possibly be the biggest case ever. 

Their pilot landed the helicopter in their isolated base in the mountains of Iran. It looked like a small village and Laurent had to admit it looked like a good enough cover for a CIA operation. They were greeted by a few other bulky men that Laurent didn’t recognize and Laurent made a mental note to do research on them next time he had access to a laptop and a few hours to burn. Damen showed him to a small hut that backed against the mountainside. 

“This is quaint,” Laurent said as they entered the dusty building. The inside was a little bit nicer than the outside. There were thick carpets on the ground, a few cots in the corner and a small kitchen setup with a camp stove, mini-fridge and a small wire shelf of ingredients. There was a large tapestry on the back wall and Laurent could see a small breeze moving behind it. 

“It’s supposed to look that way,” Damen said as he went over to the camp stove and stirred the pot that was on it. “Do you want something to eat?”

“I’d rather just get to the point,” Laurent said. “I’m here to find out what I can about Shirazi and then I’m following the next string in this web. I can eat on the plane to wherever we have to go next. I don’t have time to get cozy in an Iraqi shack.” 

“Alright,” Damen said. “I’m going to eat something. I’ll have Nikandros show you to a room where you can watch the footage.”

“Thank you,” Laurent said.   
Nikandros stepped into the shack a few moments later. “Did Omar make stew again?” He asked with a smile as he peeked into the pot. 

“Yes,” Damen said. “But first, you should show Laurent to the media room so he can review the tape.”

“How about you take your partner to the media room to show him the tape and I’ll bring you food,” Nikandros said. “You shouldn’t let him do work without you.”

“He’s right,” Laurent said. “I’d just have to tell you everything you missed or I’d have to wait for you to finish eating before I watch the tape since you still have it.” 

Nikandros and Damen both looked at Laurent as if he hadn’t been there. “...Of course,” Nikandros said. “You two start watching the interview and I’ll bring you some food.”

“Be ready to get us a flight somewhere,” Laurent said. “I have a feeling Shirazi probably won’t be in Iran anymore.”

Nikandros and Damen looked at each other for a long moment and Laurent could tell there was a debate going on between them. “Nikandros isn’t here to do those tasks for us,” Damen said as he stepped forward and lifted up the tapestry into a dimly lit pathway in the cave. Laurent stepped forward and waited for Damen to lead the way to the media room. “We can do them ourselves when we finish watching the interrogation.”

Laurent wanted to roll his eyes but he didn’t waste his time since Damen wouldn’t even see it. In fact, Damen barely fit inside the cave, he wondered if the CIA had made it themselves or if the caves were already here. There were a few doors installed in the caves and Damen brought him to one of them. The room was simple with a conference table set up in front of a TV. 

The interrogation was frustrating. While Damen’s Farsi was decent enough for both of them to get a good translation, there were a few spots where they disagreed on the translation and the direct meaning of it. 

“According to him, Shirazi had weekly meetings in Paris with a man named Marcel,” Laurent said after they had finished watching the interview and had written down transcripts. Laurent’s transcripts were in a neat cursive while Damen’s were in a neat, blocky print. Their bowls were empty next to them. 

“To me it sounds like Shirazi wasn’t even Iranian,” Damen said. 

“What do you mean?” Laurent asked. As much as he hated it, Damen had a point. All the signs in the interview so far had pointed to Shirazi no actually being Iranian so far. He never did prayer, broke fasting rules and was rarely seen around the property. That alone was enough to get him kicked out of the strict country.

“This guy said his accent was off,” Damen started.   
Laurent cut him off, “And Shirazi is a common name in Iran that’s very easy to create fake credentials for someone with a common name. It was probably easy for him to claim to be Muhammad al Shirazi if he wasn’t actually Iranian.”

“All he had to do was fake his way into the country and establish whatever he needed with the radical groups here,” Damen said. “If he had enough resources, they wouldn’t have cared much. The man claiming to be Shirazi was likely just a middle man going back and forth between two groups.”

“One of which meets weekly in Paris,” Laurent said. “But there’s one problem,” he pointed out. “We don’t know what Shirazi supposedly looks like.” 

“We can get a few of our man on it and go to Paris tonight. The man said he went to Paris on weekends and it’s a Thursday.” Damen said. “Anyways, we have better undercover men.”

“Oh, are you trying to say you, a gigantic barbarian, aren’t the best undercover agent the CIA has to offer?” Laurent asked. 

Damen gave him a long look before cracking a small smile. “No. Believe it or not, I’m good for some missions in the Middle East, but not ones where I have to be super deep undercover. I think we have a few other men in Iran that we can send to Shirazi’s place to figure out what he looks like and get some kind of tracking device on him.”

“And we head to Paris,” Laurent said. “What’s our cover?”

“I have to do some research on Marcel,” Damen said. “We might have a file on him. I’ll get started on research and you can go to sleep.”

Laurent shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m accessing MI6’s files because European intelligence is more likely to have a file on him.” 

“We can access both files then,” Damen said, rubbing his face with a giant hand. He wondered how Damen compared to Italian statues, he’d probably get mistaken for one if he stood still enough. Laurent realized he was staring and he looked away. 

“Do you have a secure computer when I can access MI6’s network?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Damen said. “Let me bring you to the computer area.” 

Laurent was able to access MI6’s files and request travel to Paris, but he couldn’t find much on Marcel. There was one small file and at the bottom something he didn’t want to see. Laurent frowned at the computer screen and logged out of the system. 

“What is it?” Damen asked.   
“I found out how we can reach Marcel,” Laurent said. “One of the men from France’s intelligence has a lot more info on him.”

“That’s great,” Damen said. “I just got our flight details. We leave in the morning.” 

“I’ll arrange a meeting with Torveld,” Laurent said. He and Torveld had a bit of a complicated relationship. It involved with Laurent getting Torveld to give him information by taking advantage of the fact that Torveld was very fond of him. Somehow Torveld never caught on, or if he did, he didn’t care. 

“Alright,” Damen said. “We’re going to be sleeping in cots in the room at the end of the hall. I’ll see you there.” 

“Goodnight,” Laurent said as he went through all his old files again and sent a quick message Torveld. He updated everything for MI6 and opened up the virtual machine he’d created to store the information he had on the case. It wasn’t that Laurent didn’t trust MI6, he did, really, but it always helped to have backups of his files and a place to put his theories and work on them before he presented them to the intelligence agency. 

Laurent looked over everything for a few hours and updated everything before he finally felt his eyes wanting to slip shut. He walked down the hallway to the room with the cot. Apparently he wouldn’t be able to change or shower before they left. Laurent was able to wash up in a small bathroom before he went to sleep. His hair was a bit disheveled and he wished he had something to brush it. The pale blonde strands brushed his shoulders. Laurent grabbed a hair tie from his wrist and put it back in a small ponytail before getting into his cot and falling into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a few hours tonight writing up an outline for this and planning it out. This work is unbeta'd so if there are any mistakes let me know. 
> 
> I'm going to try for weekly updates on this fic. That way if I write a few in a weekend, I can have a buffer. 
> 
> I posted a playlist for this fic on nitrojen.tumblr.com and you guys can follow me at carbonjen.tumblr.com
> 
> Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

From the moment Damen met Laurent DeVere in a series of decrepit, abandoned tunnels in Moscow, he’d learned that MI6’s new field agent was a force to be reckoned with. Laurent was standing in front of a missile wearing all black- something Damen had learned was one of Laurent’s signature looks- with his blonde hair tied back, and a piece of wire held in his teeth. After Laurent had noticed him, fixing him with an icy blue gaze and threatened to shoot him, Damen had stolen the missile and been verbally flayed by one of the most audacious and simultaneously beautiful people Damen had ever had the pleasure of meeting. 

He’d fallen a little in love with Laurent DeVere that day. Unfortunately for Damen- and fortunately for his long suffering partner Nikandros- the love hadn’t lasted. Laurent had a license to kill and had made it very obvious he wasn’t afraid to use it when Damen was involved. There were several cases where Laurent threatened to kill him, wounded him, shot at him, and cursed out using the most extensive vocabulary Damen had ever heard in his life. 

Of course Damen had learned everything he possibly could about Laurent. He was an incredibly bookish child and had done phenomenally well in school. He had studied at Oxford and was on his way to earning his masters when his brother had been killed in a covert MI6 operation. Damen hadn’t been directly involved with the death of Auguste DeVere, but the CIA was still behind it which meant Laurent held a deep seated dislike for the American agency. Shortly after Auguste had died, MI6 had picked Laurent up. Originally, Laurent had started in a division that sat behind desks most of the day, but he had somehow worked his way up to a field agent. Laurent had surprised everyone at the agency when he proved that he was an adept fighter, and excellent fighter, and an overall perfect field agent. 

Damen still remembered laughing behind his computer screen when he read the surprised comments from the people that had trained Laurent. According to the files, there hadn’t been much training to do. Somehow Laurent had used some of his deceased family’s money to train himself in private and keep it almost entirely off the books. 

There had also been concerns about Laurent mentioned in his files that Damen saw now that he was working with the agent. His icy personality was great for the field, but the fact that he didn’t warm up to many people at MI6 had left them apprehensive of the agent. Laurent was still known as a cast iron bitch amongst many of the agents that came across him, but he was also well respected and known to be deserving of the 003 title. 

Of course that meant Damen would end up working with him. His relationship with Laurent was less of a friendship and more of a vitriolic rivalry that had kept Damen intrigued. Nikandros had called him a masochist whenever Damen talked about the blonde. When Damen proposed they work together on the case, Nikandros had told him that he must have had a death wish because Laurent would kill him. As much as Damen didn’t want to admit Nikandros was right about the attractive blonde wanting to kill him, Damen was starting to see it. 

Damen had actually been quite surprised when Laurent didn’t pull a gun on him when Damen had told him they’d be working together. He’d seen the twitch in Laurent’s jaw when he’d received the orders and Laurent hadn’t relaxed since they arrived at the CIA base in Iraq. 

“I don’t think he’s capable of relaxation,” Nikandros had said over breakfast the next morning. Laurent was writing up a report on the meeting on Iran while Damen and Nikandros ate their breakfast in the small shack. They sat at a small table next to a radio, waiting for their helicopter to arrive and give them their credentials before bringing them to a private airport where they’d fly out to Charles De Gaulle. 

“I think he’ll calm down when we get out of here,” Damen said. “He’s around a bunch of CIA guys in the middle of Iraq and he doesn’t fit in with the people here.” 

“I don’t think he’ll calm down,” Nikandros said. “I think he’s going to use you as much as he can to get further in this case and then he’ll put a bullet in your head.” 

“Actually,” Laurent said cooly from the back of the shack, “Killing Damianos would be a terrible idea, everyone would know I did it. As much as I’d be tempted to take him down when this is all over, it would only sour relations between our countries. Instead, I’d leave Damianos tied up on some island in the middle of nowhere. By the time he escaped, I would have taken all the credit for the case, filed all the reports I needed, and moved on to other things.”

Damen and Nikandros both stared at Laurent for a long time. The radio cracked to life beside them and startled them out of their silence. Nikandros grabbed the mouthpiece and began speaking in rapid farsi to the helicopter before switching the channel and moving to English. As the helicopter approached, Laurent fixed his cool blue gaze on Damen. 

“There will be clothing and showers waiting for us on the private jet taking us to Charles De Gaulle,” Laurent said. “From there we’ll go to Paris and check into our hotel where we will share a suite, but not a bed. When we’re in Paris we will meet with Torveld and figure out what cover we need to make sure we can meet with and interrogate Marcel.” 

Even though Damen already knew this and had helped plan it, Laurent delivered the information to him like he was a child in need of instruction. “Alright,” Damen said as he stood up and grabbed a duffel bag. “I’m sure at one point we’re going to be meeting up with someone to get weapons, right?”

“They’re going to have weapons for us on the jet,” Laurent said. “And more will be brought to us at our hotel. Really, is your skull so thick that you don’t think I planned for us to get weapons? If you really think I’m that daft in how I plan things, you are not the agent I thought you were.”

“Does that mean you thought I was a good agent?” Damen asked. He could hear the helicopter landing outside. It caused the door of the small shack to rattle. 

“No,” Laurent said with a frown. It looked far more pretty than it really ought to have looked. “I thought you were adequate.” And with that, he went outside and got in the helicopter. 

“Good luck,” Nikandros said with a small smirk on his face before his smile turned into something else. “Oh, and for the love of god, Damen, don’t sleep with him.”

Damen turned and looked at Nikandros with a frown. “What?” 

“You know what I said. Don’t sleep with the frigid ice statue. He’s another Jokaste situation waiting to happen again.” 

Damen shook his head. “It’s not going to be like that.”

“I know you think that, but be careful, Damen. Not many people remind me of Jokaste, but I have a bad feeling about Laurent. I don’t think he’ll think twice about hurting you to get what he wants.”

“I’ve been keeping an eye on Laurent ever since we met in Moscow,” Damen said. “And he knows we’ve been working on the same case for months. If he was going to try something, he would have done it by now.” He straightened up and opened the door. “I’ll let you know when we’re in Paris.”

“Be safe Damianos.” 

\- 

Laurent was silent on their helicopter ride to the private airport, staring out the window at the ground below them as if it could explain this case to them. The ride wasn’t very long, but the silence made it unbearable, even their captain didn’t want to make small talk. 

The plane that MI6 had provided them was incredibly nice, and Damen smiled when he felt the chill of air conditioning on his skin. The helicopter had been stuffy and the CIA compound relied on the cooling properties of the stone since air conditioning was too much of a risk in their location. There were two garment bags hanging next to each other with duffel bags underneath them. Each garment bag had a note with their names on them attached. Damen took his which explained the contents of the bag in detail. Everything was accounted for and there were even suggested outfits. The notes were signed with a simple “Q” and Damen wondered if the Quartermaster at MI6 was a stylist or if MI6 had a specific person for that job. 

Laurent pulled a laptop from out of his back and sat in one of the seats, immediately getting to work as the plane took off. Damen couldn’t help but feel helpless when the stewardess vanished into her own area of the jet as they headed up to cruising altitude. 

“I’m going to shower,” Laurent said as soon as the captain announced they were free to move about the cabin. Laurent picked up his duffel bag and vanished into the back of the plane, leaving Damen alone to wonder what he’d gotten himself into. Running into Laurent in the field had been fun, but he hadn’t expected that the downtime between work would be filled with silence. 

Laurent returned about twenty minutes later in a dark pair of jeans, a black and gray striped shirt, and a navy blue scarf, all of which looked like they were made for Laurent. Damen was struck by how amazing Laurent looked in street clothes and he felt the warm flutter of attraction deep in his abdomen. 

“You’re staring Damianos,” Laurent said with a sneer as he sat down. “I suggest you take a shower so you stop making the plane smell of dust and sweat. I also suggest you shave. While your rugged look might work in the mountains of Iraq or in the more bohemian areas of Paris, we’re going to be staying on the left bank where you’re expected to look nice.” 

Damen stared at Laurent for another long moment before he stood up and grabbed his own duffel bag, wondering how it was possible that he was still attracted to someone that was so quick to insult him. He showered quickly and shaved, choosing one of the outfits Q had told him was casualwear for Paris. Even though the jeans and black sweater were simple, they still managed to look Parisian, and the near perfect fit made him wonder how Q had gotten his measurements. The only unfortunate thing about the fit of the clothing was how difficult it was to find a good place to holster his gun. A shoulder holster wasn’t a good choice unless he had a jacket and anything on the leg wasn’t going to work. He wondered where Laurent had put his gun. 

Laurent didn’t give Damen a second glance when Damen came back into the main cabin and sat down. He opened his laptop and looked at all the files he had. The CIA had recently given him all the information that MI6 had on the case so he read up on that. All the information was about the same. A few more names were added to the complicated web they’d both been working on, but there wasn’t anything significant. He could only hope that Marcel would be a good lead for them. 

They finally landed and after looking at Laurent’s notes on the files, he knew that Laurent wasn’t giving all his information away. While it made sense on a case this big where neither of them could be sure about anything, it didn’t help him trust Laurent. A car was waiting for them on the runway and as soon as the doors were shut they headed towards Paris. 

“We’re staying in a hotel next to the Tuileries and near the river,” Laurent said. “It’s a relatively central location for wherever we need to go. Torveld has suggested a few locations for our meeting, I’ve done some research on the best ones and I’ll let you review them.” 

“Thank you for letting me have input on the meeting place,” Damen said. He wondered how many places Torveld had initially proposed and how many Laurent had gotten from that list. Sometimes negotiating meeting places was far more exhaustive than he ever thought it could be. When it came to intelligence for three countries meeting in one place, he knew it would be complicated to find a meeting place that everyone agreed on. 

“Since you’re very good at escape strategies and analyzing rooms, I thought it would be best to include your opinion on the matter,” Laurent said like it was obvious. “Doing anything else would be putting our lives at risk.”

“Does that mean you don’t trust Torveld?” Damen asked with a quirk of his brow.

Laurent’s face changed just slightly. If someone didn’t know Laurent, they would have ignored it, but Damen saw it and knew everything immediately. “I don’t trust anyone,” Laurent said after a few moments of silence. “And that includes you.”

Damen didn’t know what to do with that information so instead he looked at the window and watched the cars pass by. Paris hadn’t changed much, the buildings still looked the same and the drivers were still awful. Drivers were awful in every country, but each country had its own unique type of bad driving. In America, people were aggressive and got frustrated. In Italy, people did whatever they wanted on the road putting everything in chaos. In France, drivers went quickly and overtook each other as if they were driving a race. Driving into the city, their car almost hit pedestrians several times but he got them to their hotel quickly, Laurent tipping the driver with a few quick words in French as hotel staff fetched their things. 

Damen waited patiently as Laurent conversed with the front desk, calm at first, but frustrated as their conversation went on. The man at the front desk was apologetic but kept shaking his head and putting his hands up. He handed Laurent a key and Laurent snatched it from him with a glare. Damen didn’t want to know what Laurent was saying, but from the look on the man’s face, Laurent was giving him a thorough and embarrassing verbal scolding. 

“Come Damianos,” Laurent said as he headed to the elevators. They stepped into the first one that arrived and a glare from Laurent was enough to prevent anyone else from entering. 

“What happened?” Damen asked when the doors were shut and they were on their way up to one of the upper floors. 

“There was an issue with our room,” Laurent said. “It appears that when our reservations were made, the cover MI6 gave them was that we are a newly engaged couple.” 

It made sense really. Being engaged instead of married meant they wouldn’t have to share rooms, it would also explain why they were sharing a room together. Damen didn’t say any of that though, instead he said, “What’s the issue with the room?”

“The issue is that our suite has one bed,” Laurent said. The elevator dinged and Laurent got out, walking silently down the hallway. He stopped at their room and opened the door. 

The main area of the suite was nice. There was a sitting area that would give them room to plan things out and go over information together. Damen went to the bedroom and he looked back at Laurent, “Is having a king bed really that much of a problem? We could easily share it.”

“I could easily share it with someone else my size,” Laurent corrected. “Not with a giant that probably sprawls out and takes up the entire thing.” 

“Did you see the cots we slept on last night?” Damen asked in return. “Those were twin sized cots, I’m used to sleeping in confined areas.”

“Then I’m sure you won’t mind sleeping on the couch,” Laurent said. 

Damen’s mouth hung open and he looked at the blonde who was standing in front of him with his arms crossed, eyes daring Damen to protest. “We can focus on the incredibly petty bed argument later,” Damen said. “How about now, we focus on where we’re meeting Torveld and when.” 

“Fine.” Laurent said. “I’ll go pull up the floor plans for each restaurant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the meeting with Torveld, then Damen and Laurent have fun in Paris. Fun being relative in that it's fun for you and me.
> 
> Find me at carbonjen.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

They went over the plans of each restaurant for a over an hour, debating the pros and cons of each restaurant. The issue was that they all had good spots and bad spots for a meeting. Sitting at the front of some restaurants would be safer than the front of others and some offered no protection or means of escape no matter where they sat. 

They finally settled on a café that had entrances in the front and back and exits through two of its kitchens and it’s men’s restroom. Laurent called Torveld while Damen researched the area and any escapes he would need to get them as far away from the café as possible as quickly as possible if they were attacked. He couldn’t help but overhear how jovial Laurent sounded over the phone. It was the most emotion- other than anger- that he’d heard from the other spy since he’d met him. 

After a few hours of what Laurent called “research” and what Damen called “avoiding conversation” they headed out to the place where they were supposed to meet Torveld. They headed towards the Madeleine and turned a corner onto a slightly less crowded street where the café was located. Laurent rolled his shoulders and Damen wondered again whether Laurent had any weapons on him. Damen had settled for a knife on his ankle. 

The cafe wasn’t too crowded and from what Damen could tell, none of the people inside looked like they might be intelligence. Laurent took them to a table where a tall man in his forties was already sipping on a glass of wine. 

“Laurent!” He greeted excitedly, rising to give Laurent two brief kisses on each cheek. “I’m so glad you could make it, and I really do commend your choice, this is one of the best cafés in Paris!” 

“Of course Torveld,” Laurent said. “It’s you that always says I have impeccable taste.” If Damen didn’t know Laurent, he would say Laurent was smiling coyly.   
“Impeccable indeed,” Torveld said as he turned to Damen. “Is this your new partner? Wonderful choice.” Torveld leaned in and kissed Damen once on each cheek. “I’m Torveld Montaigne,” he said. “And you must be Damianos.”

“The one and only,” Laurent said as he sat down. Damen and Torveld followed and it said everything about who was in charge of this meeting. “So Torveld, how are things doing in France? How is Selene?” 

Torveld started talking about the different things that had been going on in Paris recently in the wake of certain events. Some of them he seemed solemn about, something that Damen thought looked foreign on his face, and others more light hearted. It turned out Selene was Torveld’s cat who he had just gotten the last time he’d met up with Laurent. 

“I don’t really see why you had a problem with her,” Laurent said, leaning slightly forward and looking at Torveld with a strange amount of warmth in his smile. “She loved me.”

“Why Laurent, everyone loves you,” Torveld said as he teached forward and took one of Laurent’s hands in his own. Clearly Torveld didn’t know the same Laurent that Damen did. 

“Laurent does have the temperament of a cat,” Damen said, doing his best to make the phrase sound fond. 

Their food was brought over and Damen watched as Laurent and Torveld started eating. Laurent sipped at his water. “So,” he said as he leaned in. “Damianos and I were looking for Marcel.”

Torveld hummed, demeanor changing almost completely. “I am very familiar with Marcel,” he said. “Small time dealer of illegal substances. Why are you looking for him? He’s not much of an issue here, and if you want a bust on him we can arrange that.”

“We think Marcel is part of a bigger picture,” Laurent said. “Something MI6 and the CIA are on and we need to talk to him but we also need to keep it very low key. If we could find out where he frequents and steal him away for a quick interview, it would help our investigation a lot.” 

Damen watched Torveld think for a few moments before he nodded. “Of course,” he said with a smile that said he would be willing to do far more for Laurent. “Marcel likes to stay under the radar, but if you want to catch him somewhere public, I would go to Fourchette, it’s a club that he goes to every Saturday.”

It wasn’t that Damen knew a lot about French clubs, but something about the way Torveld looked slightly uncomfortable drove him to ask what kind of club Fourchette was. 

“Well,” Torveld said. “It’s a gay club. It’s quite well known in Paris and Marcel is a VIP there. He often leaves late at night with a small group of men.”

“What does he do with them?” Damen asked. 

“He fucks them,” Torveld told him with a roll of his eyes. “If he did anything else we would have arrested him.” He turned back to Laurent. “I would suggest going there around midnight, that’s usually after he’s had a few drinks and starts picking men up. It shouldn’t be difficult for you to seduce him.” 

“Of course not,” Laurent said as he fluttered his eyelashes. It was then that Damen realized how Laurent was able to get so much information. Torveld was hopelessly attracted to Laurent who used that to get information out of the French spy. The two made small talk while Torveld paid the check and they parted with the same kisses on the cheek. 

Laurent completely transformed when they were out of the café. Damen could practically feel Laurent’s muscles tensing and the cold he pushed outwards returning. 

“We’re not really going to a gay club for Marcel are we?” Damen asked, though based on Laurent’s determination, he already knew the answer. 

“Of course we are,” Laurent said as he navigated around the crowds that were building in the city. “You better not tell me you’re above going to a gay club for your job when I’ve seen you doing far worse.”

“I’m not,” Damen said as they dodged a large group of tourists. “But there has to be a better way.”

“I already looked at all the files Torveld send me on Marcel,” Laurent said. “Based on the information we have, the best way to get an interview with him is at the club. You should be glad for it, a large brute like you will be covered with twinks and body glitter from the moment you step inside.” 

“What are we supposed to wear?” Damen asked. He felt pathetic asking, but clubs weren’t really his forte. He did missions that placed him in war torn countries, not clubs and cafés. 

“I’ll have Q send something over,” Laurent said. “You’re not nervous, are you?” Damen could have sworn he heard something teasing in Laurent’s voice. 

“No,” Damen said. “It’s just that I wasn’t trained to work in clubs.” 

Laurent looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Neither was I,” he said. “But when you work jobs like ours, you need to learn how to adapt.” 

The rest of the walk to the hotel was made in silence. When they got back, Damen looked up the club and any escape routes while Laurent called Q. When the call was done, Laurent sat down on the couch and slid Damen’s laptop into his lap. 

“The club has a decent amount of escapes and back rooms hidden behind the VIP lounge here,” Damen said as he pointed to a small area on the map.

“I’ll try to get us both into the VIP area and then we can get him into the back room and conduct the interview there.” Laurent told him as he looked at the map. “Our clothes will be here in a few hours. We can have dinner here and do research until it’s time to leave.” 

Damen shook his head, “Really?” 

“What?” Laurent asked. 

“More research? How much more research can we possibly do? We each know everything there is to know about this case, and looking at it even more is just going to cause us to miss new leads and connections because we’re blind from looking at it too long.”

“Fine,” Laurent said. “If you don’t want to do research, go out and explore Paris, but I have been working on this case for months, and every time we find a new connection, there are days of research that can be done.”

 

“But should they be done?” Damen asked. “You need to balance out the research with other things, Laurent, there needs to be a balance.”

“I think,” Laurent said in a cool tone. “I know how to do my job, and I don’t need simpering giants like you to tell me how to do it. If you want to waste your time, then go ahead, I’m going to stay here and do the job that I take pride in.”

Damen rolled his eyes and stood up. “I think you’re working too hard,” Damen said. “And it’s going to hinder you from doing well as it has in the past. If you ever wonder how it is I’ve been able to beat you or overcome you when we’re put on similar cases, it’s because I know how to do my job too, and I know that it’s a job that occasionally, I need breaks from. Enjoy your day,” Damen said as he grabbed his wallet and hotel key. 

Despite being in Paris, the day still dragged by. He wandered around the city and the museums, wondering how they were supposed to work together on this case. Damen debated calling Nikandros to tell the other male that no, he wouldn’t end up with Laurent. Anytime Laurent made any positive steps towards any kind of personal relationships, he then liked to take a thousand steps backwards. It made him want to quit this case even though he knew that together, they were already so much closer to figuring it all out. 

Damen finally figured it out, after sitting in the corner of a large bookstore and trying to read the same chapter of a book over and over again: it wasn’t just Laurent he was frustrated with, it was the case, where every time they uncovered something, it brought them to another string in a web that was continually growing larger. Laurent must have been feeling similar frustration and while Damen took time away from the case, Laurent only dedicated more time to it. 

He finally returned to the hotel around eight for a late dinner. There were a few empty plates already in front of their door, meaning Laurent had eaten. When Damen stepped into the room, Laurent was sitting on the couch watching TV. There was almost something childlike in the way he was poised with his legs tucked up and his hair slightly askew from hours of looking at the same information. Laurent looked at him and then back at the TV, staying silent while Damen ordered his dinner. 

“You were right,” Laurent said when Damen sat down in an armchair near the couch. Laurent had managed to take the entire thing up with his body and various notebooks. 

“What?” Damen asked, unable to believe Laurent would admit any fault. 

“I said you were right,” Laurent told him. “Do I have to say it in another language?” He sighed and looked at the TV. “I’ve decided to take a small break from research to relax. This trivia show is just as mentally stimulating as working on a case.”

“Of course it is,” Damen said with a small smile. “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset earlier.”

“No,” Laurent said as he shook his head. “Your frustration was perfectly reasonable. I’m the one who should be apologizing for making you sit in a room all day. Clearly you need some space to roam around like the giant buffalo you are.” 

Damen raised an eyebrow at Laurent, who was smirking behind his hand, eyes still on the TV. He could almost feel something between them, but the moment was interrupted with the arrival of his dinner. 

-

The outfits that Q had given them were interesting to say the least. Laurent looked decent in a pair of tight jeans and a black v-neck. Damen on the other hand, was given a tight pair of shorts and a rainbow crop top. Clearly Q had an opinion on Damen and it wasn’t a very fond one. 

“I’m not wearing this,” Damen said. “At least let me put on a shirt that doesn’t sparkle.” 

Laurent gave Damen an appraising glance, clearly enjoying how ridiculous Damen looked. “Alright,” he said. “I think Q gave you a pair of black jeans, wear those and no shirt. We’ll put some glitter on your chest and call it an ensemble.” 

After Damen had changed, they made their way to Fourchette. Damen wished that they had gotten a hotel closer to the club because everyone on the street that they passed in the nicer left bank area gave them long stares. Some of them were attraction, others confusion, and some disgust. There was a chill in the air, but it cooled down the heat of embarrassment that Damen could feel as they walked. He never went outside like this, ever. Laurent looked fine, but it was Damen getting all the stares. 

It was a relief when they got to the club and Damen could feel more relaxed as the crowd got more accepting. They were welcomed warmly inside by a crowd of men that were very attracted to both Laurent and Damen. As a few guys danced close to Damen he wondered if the body glitter would rub off completely by the end of the night. Laurent sidled up to Damen after a few minutes of dancing and pointed out a dark haired male in the VIP area across the room. 

“That’s Marcel,” Laurent said as he gave a guy approaching Damen a glare. “I’m going to see if I can get him to buy me a drink.” 

Damen watched as Laurent vanished out of sight for a few moments and reappeared in front of the VIP booth. Damen couldn’t see exactly how he was dancing through the crowd, but based on the way Marcel was looking at him, he was impressed. With a wave of Marcel’s hand, Laurent was in the VIP booth, leaning against Marcel’s side and laughing at something Marcel said. Damen danced with a few guys while Laurent shared his first drink with Marcel. He didn’t go to gay clubs, but now he could see the appeal. Damen didn’t get the chance to sleep with people often -he preferred real relationships- but if he ever wanted to sleep with a guy, he knew where he could go. 

Damen felt a tap on his shoulder and came face to face with one of Marcel’s men. “You’ve been invited to the VIP booth,” the man told him in a gruff voice. The crowd parted for them as they made their way to the small raised platform where the VIP area sat. Laurent grinned at him when he entered the area. 

“There’s that big bear I was telling you about,” Laurent said. “Could you imagine the faces and sounds he’d get me to make?” Laurent said it as if he meant to whisper it into Marcel’s ear but had “accidentally” been too loud. “Sit next to me, big boy,” Laurent said as he tapped the leather next to him. Damen sat down next to him and Laurent swayed into him. 

“So who are you?” Marcel asked, raising an eyebrow at the fake drunk Laurent. 

“Nicholas,” Damen said, using one of his covers. 

Marcel smiled and held out a hand. “Marcel,” he said, voice smooth. “I’m glad I can share your company tonight.” 

“As am I,” Damen said. 

“This little one proposed a nice little triste in the back room,” Marcel said as he sipped at a martini. “And since he’s the best looking thing in this club tonight, I simply have to indulge him.”

“He is worth indulging on,” Damen replied. 

“Wonderful,” Marcel said as he stood up. He held a hand up and assisted Laurent, leaving Damen to follow behind them. Marcel brought them to the back room. It was large with a bed and a few chairs. Damen saw a few sets of handcuffs and had to bite back a smile at how easy this would be. “Don’t interrupt us,” Marcel told his guards as he shut the door behind him. 

“Now,” Laurent said as soon as they were alone. He tossed Damen a pair of handcuffs and locked the door while Damen handcuffed Marcel and shoved him into the chair. Laurent searched through a few drawers in the night tables until he found some silk ribbon and used that to tie Marcel to the chair.

“What are you doing?” Marcel asked them as he writhed around. 

“Oh good,” Laurent said in the direction of the door with a smirk. “He’s into roleplay.” 

“No I am not!” Marcel shouted. “Let me go right now! I will have you both killed!” 

“No you won’t,” Laurent said as he took a gun out from the back of his jeans. “Does the name ‘Muhammad al Shirazi’ mean anything to you?” He asked as he pressed it against Marcel’s forehead. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shirazi said as he looked around the room. “Let me go you little shit!”  
“Not until I get some answers,” Laurent said. “And if I don’t get any, you die. I’m feeling like I’ll give you three chances. You’ve wasted one. Are you Muhammed al Shirazi?”

“I don’t know that name!” Marcel shouted. He looked at Damen. “Aren’t you going to stop him?”

“We’re working together,” Laurent said. “And you have one more chance to tell me if you’re Shirazi. I’m not afraid to make a mess.”

Marcel struggled against his bonds for a few moments. “Fine, I’m Shirazi. I use an alter ego to sell drugs in the Middle East. They won’t buy from a gay dealer, so I made one up to make a break into the market.”

“Good,” Laurent said. “How did you know Taran Siu?” 

“Taran Siu?” Marcel asked. “What does she have to do with this?”

“We all know what she has to do with this,” Laurent said. “She’s in charge of the Chinese market and you two have a regional deal. How did you meet her?”

“Through the IRA,” Marcel said. 

“Wrong answer, the IRA isn’t active anymore,” Laurent said as he pressed the gun harder to Marcel’s forehead. “How did you meet her?”

“The IRA!” Marcel shouted. “It’s not the same organization it was thirty or forty years ago, but parts of it are still active.”

“What more can you tell us?” Damen asked. 

“I can’t tell you anything else about it,” Marcel said, he had tears in his eyes and his face was red with fear. “Please, I really don’t know.”

“I don’t believe you,” Laurent said. 

“Laurent, I think he’s telling the truth,” Damen started, trying to get the other male to lower his gun, but Laurent pulled the trigger. The shot reverberated around the room and Damen stared at Laurent while Marcel’s blood poured onto the floor at their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took awhile! I'm currently abroad so I've been very busy. I'll try to post updates once a week.


End file.
